


all you're waiting for

by spookyfoot



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Dick Jokes, Fluff, Humor, M/M, i took a lot liberties with the show and i'm only a little sorry, keith is the worst bachelor ever, matt is just the worst, shiro is trying, this got a little meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 06:58:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17761994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot
Summary: Keith submits an application for the next season of The Bachelor and makes the best drunken mistake of his life.Keith has never been one for regrets. They're heavy. Impractical. Not something you can sling over your shoulder on a moment's notice.They're baggage.But one dumb, drunken application, and the ensuing congratulations letter are enough to make him see the appeal.





	all you're waiting for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thissupposedcrime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thissupposedcrime/gifts), [springofviolets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/springofviolets/gifts).



> originally posted as a ridiculous twitter thread, i have no excuses for myself. not edited aside from a few minor spelling things

Keith has never been one for regrets. They're heavy. Impractical. Not something you can sling over your shoulder on a moment's notice.  
  
They're baggage.  
  
But one dumb, drunken application, and the ensuing congratulations letter are enough to make him see the appeal.

Hunk, Lance, and Pidge are asleep but they're also the reason for this mess. So.  
  
"Fuck!" He says it loud, with feeling, just to make them come running.  
  
"What's going on?" Pidge says, skidding out of her room, head more nest than hair and half her keyboard etched on her cheek.

"Fix this," Keith says, shoving the letter under her nose. Hunk and Lance choose that moment to wander out of their bedrooms.  
  
"Buddy, we talked about this. Saturdays are sacred," Hunk says.  
  
"There are fifty two Saturdays in a year. I only have one sense of dignity."

"No fucking way," Lance says, shuffling closer to peer over Pidge's shoulder. "Why the hell would they pick you?"  
  
Keith ignores him. "So?"  
  
"Sorry Keith," Pidge says, not looking that sorry at all. "I've seen deals with the devil that have more loopholes. You're fucked."

"There has to be some way out of this," Keith insists. And keeps insisting, right up until the moment that they're artfully tousling his hair and slinging an absurdly expensive pair of leather pants over his arm while forcing him to his dressing room to change.

"Why leather pants?" Keith asks. He knows no one's going to listen to him, no one has for the past couple of months.  
  
"Our viewers love a bad boy," the executive producer, Lotor, says with a wink and a toss of his platinum hair.

Keith drives a motorcycle but he also has a degree in astrophysics.  
  
He's not sure how the producers landed on "bad boy."  
  
It's no use. In moments, he's under the glaring hot stage lights, facing a faceless stream of luxury cars, hoping that choosing "no one" is an option.

The first introductions are a disaster.  
  
Keith's not sure where they find these guys but most of them are basically the human equivalent of saltine crackers—bland enough to settle an upset stomach but never anyone's first choice.  
  
Certainly not Keith's.

Most of the men make Keith wish he were watching paint dry. He's relieved to see Matt towards the end of the parade.  
  
They'd pushed to get Matt on the show as a break glass in case of emergency option. It looks like Keith will need it.  
  
And then, mercifully, the last contestant.

Thank god, Keith starts to think, but he might as well just thank the man in front of him, whose jaw looks like it could cut glass, but whose eyes look like they could dismantle the most hardened heart.  
  
They've certainly dismantled Keith's.  
  
He offers a hand. "Shiro"  
  
"Keith."

Shiro has a dog. Shiro has a motorcycle. Shiro works for NASA. Shiro is kind, handsome and utterly, incredibly perfect. He's too good for this—this shitty tv show, this game they have to play.  
  
It's a game Keith never took seriously, until Shiro made him want to play for keeps.

After the introductions are done, Lotor pulls Keith aside for a "little chat." His pinched smile does most of the talking for him.  
  
"Tonight is the first impression rose. You cannot, I repeat, cannot, give it to Shiro."  
  
Keith tries to interrupt but Lotor cuts him off.

"We have 12 episodes. 12. This is episode 1."  
  
"I—"  
  
"You're a terrible liar. It's why we picked you. Acxa thought it was sweet. But you absolutely cannot mark a favorite in episode 1."  
  
"How? If I'm such a bad liar."  
  
"Play our game, editing can handle the rest."

The worst part is, Lotor knows he's got him. Lotor is a reality tv producer, trained to pick apart the most fragile pieces of the human psyche and rearrange them into a relatively satisfying hour of forgettable television via the magic of editing.  
  
Keith didn't stand a chance.

"Now, go. Mingle."  
  
Keith goes, but it only takes those three words to strike terror into his heart.  
  
The marble foyer is a mass of bodies clustered around the show's host, Allura Altea. But Keith's eyes immediately find Shiro like Keith's a compass, and Shiro is true North.

There are greater forces at work here, and he starts drifting towards Shiro's side.  
  
No such luck. On cue, several saltine cracker contestants bid for his attention, desperate to prove themselves. At least three of them are named Chad. Two: Brad. A terrible start.

A terrible continuation, too. Keith gets Shiro—and Matt—through to the next round, but it comes at the cost of giving Sedak a rose. 

  
("He's amazing television," Lotor says, with an expression that's somehow half swoon half disgust.  
  
Keith's is all disgust.)

But Keith goes to sleep that night with the memory of how Shiro's body feels pressed against his own, the weight of his hands on the small of his back, and the soft "thank you," he'd whispered in Keith's ear while accepting his rose.

__________________________________

Time is a malleable thing on a reality tv show set, dictated more by the camera than the clock. The weeks fly by in a sea of forgettable-albeit-terrifying dates.  
  
Fire Spinning, skydiving, parasailing—dates that make great t.v. but less great conversation.

It takes longer than it should for Shiro to get a one on one date, but when he does, it's Bikram Yoga. Keith is flexible, he's good at yoga.  
  
He can also count each of Shiro's individual abs through his tight, white shirt.  
  
That tends to fuck up a person's balance.

"You're, uh, really good at this," Keith says. And Shiro—Shiro just smiles at him, perched on his forearms in a perfect crow pose. 

Keith tries not to think about all the ways those arms could lift him, too.  
  
"Thank you," Shiro says. "Practice."

Keith appreciates that Shiro doesn't return the compliment because while he is good at this—excellent, in fact—this is his worst session since he was a beginner. Thank god his mom isn't here to see this, he thinks, conveniently forgetting that this episode has to air, eventually.

Keith's just about to try again when a pair of warm, broad hands cup his waist, fingers resting just over top of his hip bones. 

And then they pull back just slightly.  
  
"Is this okay?" Shiro says, soft and low in his ear.

Keith nods because Shiro touching him? Definitely okay. Not so okay? Keith's faith in his ability to form complete sentences with Shiro's mouth that close to his neck, not so much.

Shiro adjusts his grip and the thumb of his prosthetic slips beneath the hem of Keith's shirt.

Keith shifts and Shiro steadies him.  
  
"Deep breaths, patience yields focus."  
  
Keith breathes and considers what kind of black magic Shiro must dabble in—no one should be able to make a phrase right out of a middle school motivation poster sound like a proposition.

__________________________________

"What the hell was that," Lotor shrieks. These production meetings are more directive than discussion but Lotor has never looked this disheveled with a greasy ponytail and bags under his eyes. "We're selling you as 'bad boy with a heart of gold', not 'baby's gay awakening.'"

"This is your fault," Keith says. "You can't just...throw someone in a room with a man like that. You have to let them build up immunity first. Get vaccinated."  
  
Keith can't believe this guy calls himself a veteran tv producer when he's made such an amateur mistake.

Lotor tightens his ponytail and smooths back a few errant stands before rolling his eyes. "Yes, and I'm sure you'd love him for him to vaccinate you with his cock, but it'll have to wait until sweeps are over. So keep it in your pants until February. Both of you."

"Fu—" Keith starts, but Lotor quiets him with finger to his lips.  
  
"No. Don't speak. We may push the envelope and we may air close to 10pm, but we are still a family show. We will not be giving viewers a new definition of come shot just because you two decided to play doctor."

Lotor dismisses him before Keith can dignify that insult with a response, which is just as well—it would require that the whole experience left Keith with some dignity at all. 

When Keith gets back to the house, the remaining contestants are clustered on the living room couches.

Shiro spots him immediately and smiles, clearing a space beside him.  
  
"Hey," Shiro says, "we were waiting for you."  
  
But the way that he says "we" sounds like "I" and Keith's reminded of the most chilling part of Lotor's speech.  
  
"We don't need a good reason to send him home."

__________________________________

Play the game, Keith thinks, perching himself next on the couch farthest from Shiro.  
  
Play the game, he thinks, handing Shiro the last rose, wishing he could smooth out the worry between his brows.  
  
Play the game, he thinks, telling Shiro "I'm fine," when he asks what's wrong.

It's two weeks of this. Two weeks of avoiding Shiro at the house, two weeks of swerving alone time on group dates, two weeks of watching Lotor piece together ads of his and Shiro's faces overlaid with "trouble in paradise?"  
  
Two absolutely miserable weeks before Keith snaps.

__________________________________

It's his last resort, his break glass in case of emergency Hail Mary—even if It may not be the emergency they'd planned for. But Keith refuses to spend one more group dinner watching Shiro look like a kicked puppy from the opposite end of the table.  
  
"Matt, I need your help."

"Yes, I'll elope with you, when do we leave?" Matt asks eyes glued to his keyboard. 

"Not why I'm here, but if I need you, I'll let you know," Keith says.  
  
"Sure. String me along, I see how it is."  
  
"You're my second first choice, if that helps."  
  
"Actually, yeah, a little."

"Good. I'm glad," Keith says. He folds his arms over his chest and looks around the room. Three cameras.  
  
Matt shakes his head. "Bad boys."  
  
"Okay. Sure. So—how advanced is this security system?"  
  
Matt squints. "Eighth grade science fair. Easy."  
  
"Great, here's the plan—"

"Nice." Matt says, after. "Loop the previous security footage and make sure no one can get into the game room so you can complete Operation Cool Ranch."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Matt stares, expectant. "Get it? Cool Ranch? 'Cause he's shaped like a Dorito?"  
  
"Mhm. Got it."  
  
"I'm wasted on you."

"Matt. Please. We don't have much time."  
  
"Fine. But you're lucky I'm a romantic."  
  
"I am," Keith says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He starts towards the window, pauses, and turns. "Well. Good luck."  
  
Matt scoffs. "I don't need luck, I have technology."

The window slides open, easy as anything. It's nothing for Keith to swing himself over the ledge and shimmy down the decorative trellis facing the garden.  
  
Well. Not so decorative anymore.  
  
It's a little unsteady beneath him, but he makes it to the ground okay.  
  
Now: part two.

It's hard to tell which room is which from the outside. It's not like the show's decorator was concerned with aiding and abetting moonlight rendezvous.  
  
Though maybe they should have. Because aside from Matt, Keith has one other ace up his sleeve: everyone loves Romeo and Juliet.

__________________________________

The first rock hits the window dead center. So does the second. It's not till the third that the dull glow on the other side of the glass flickers to a full blaze.  
  
Keith breathes in. Waits.  
  
But no one appears.  
  
Maybe he picked the wrong room, maybe he doesn't want—  
  
"Keith?"

"Hey," Keith says. It feels inadequate.  
  
"What are you doing?" Shiro asks, leaning against the window sill. He looks more upset than charmed.  
  
Keith's starting to question this whole plan but he can't exactly back out now. "Throwing rocks at your window."  
  
"Yeah, I noticed."

Shiro sighs. "Keith. I'm on the first floor, you could have just knocked."  
  
Keith flushes. "I know. But it was about the gesture."  
  
"The gesture," Shiro says, flat. Although it may be a trick of the moonlight, Keith swears there's a smile flirting at the corners of Shiro's mouth.

"Ancient dance of apology."  
  
"A classic," Shiro says, running a hand through his hair. And—yeah, that's a smile. "Well if you want to pull a Rapunzel, we'll have to switch places, my hair's not long enough. And we'll need a higher window."  
  
"What about a change of scene instead?"

"Go on," Shiro says leaning away from the window to grab a jacket.  
  
"It's a surprise. As part of my apology."  
  
"Does it involve you coming back here with a boombox," Shiro teases.  
  
"You know what, never mind. This was the whole apology."  
  
"Where's my Peter Gabriel, Keith?"

"Where am I gonna find a boom box?"  
  
"You're creative. Use your phone."  
  
Keith slides a hand into his pocket and pull out his Razr. "I don't think that's gonna work."  
  
Shiro laughs.  
  
Keith crosses his arms. "It's a phone. It still functions."  
  
Shiro just keeps laughing.

"You're lucky I like you," Keith says, sliding his phone back into his pocket as Shiro swings a second leg over the window and into the yard.  
  
Shiro pauses. "Do you?"  
  
"Shiro—"  
  
"Because lately, it hasn't felt like you do," Shiro shrugs but it's too stiff to be convincing.

Keith sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I deserve that."  
  
"You do."  
  
"I can explain."  
  
"Can you?" Shiro asks. But it doesn't sound like a question.  
  
"Yeah." Keith holds out a hand. "But first—I need you to shut up and trust me."

Shiro pauses then laces their fingers. "Okay. But you're on probation. And no promises about shutting up." 

Keith squeezes Shiro's hand and slyly smiles. "And if I find something better for you to do with your mouth?"  
  
"Probation," Shiro says, but the tips of his ears burn red.

"I promise to keep things above the waist." Keith leads Shiro over to his bike guiding Shiro into the seat behind him.  
  
"Oh do you?"  
  
"Yep." Keith says. He wraps Shiro's arms around his middle. "Hold tight."  
  
Keith revs the engine and they tear out the gates, into the night.

__________________________________

The roads that wind through the hills just north of West Hollywood are empty this time of night. Keith takes the twists and turns as their own thrill—secondary to the feel of Shiro's heartbeat against his back.  
  
Keith's got a destination in mind, but the journey's nice, too.

The observatory's open this time of year, but not this time of night. The park is free though, and it's dark enough here that some of the light pollution from the city falls to a dull roar.  
  
Keith pulls the bike onto a dirt path towards a hill with a good view of the skyline.

It's a clear night and warm enough for their jackets ward off the chill. Keith helps Shiro off the bike once he's parked. He knows Shiro doesn't need the support—Keith just wants to hold Shiro's hand again.  
  
And, maybe, he also wants to see if Shiro will let him.  
  
He does.

He also lets Keith lead him over a patch of grass and then down beside him.  
  
"Sorry. I should have brought a blanket but I didn't have much time."  
  
"It's fine," Shiro shrugs. He frowns and pulls his hand back, "How did you even get us out of there?"

"Matt," Keith says.  
  
He knows it's not enough of an explanation; if anything Shiro looks more confused.  
  
"You mean...the other contestant? That Matt?"  
  
"Uh. Yeah."  
  
"Why would he help you escape for a date with his competition?"  
  
"Because he doesn't actually want to marry me."

Keith sighs and falls on to his back. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. If I'd had it my way, none of this would have happened at all. I wouldn't be on this show. I'm still not sure why they picked me. I don't think they are, either."  
  
"Keith—"  
  
"No. Let me finish."

And Shiro, sweet, funny and far too good for this, goes quiet and waits. Keith doesn't deserve it but he has to try.  
  
"This whole thing was a mistake. I filled out the application because I was dumb and drunk and then I was stuck —so I gave myself an out."  
  
"Matt."  
  
"Yeah. Matt."

"It was gonna be easy.  Matt's good with tech and his sister's even better. Didn't take much to get him on the show—all I had to do was hand him the final rose."

Keith turns on his side. He wants to reach out but he doesn't. He can't afford to fuck this up. "And then I met you."

"..then you met me," Shiro says. He sounds a little sad.  
  
"Yeah. And you're the best part, by far."  
  
It's Shiro who moves first. He lays down beside Keith and slides his arm close, touching the tips of their pinky fingers together.  
  
Keith is the one that links them.

"Look. This—the show, the games, the stunts Lotor wants me to play for ratings—none of it's what I wanted." Keith bites his lip. "But you...I wanted you from the moment I met you. And I'm sorry I played the game—that I ever made you think I didn't."

"I thought I'd done something," Shiro says, soft and a little resigned. It breaks Keith's heart.  
  
"No," Keith says, forcefully. "Lotor thought I was being too obvious, that people think it was rigged—even with editing. And he wasn't even wrong because—"  
  
"Matt."  
  
"Yeah. Matt."

Keith plays with a thread hanging from his pocket. "But I can't blame it all on him. I didn't have to go with it. I just—couldn't always read what you were feeling." Keith turns back toward type stars. "Or maybe that's what I told myself 'cause I was scared to lose my easy out."

"It's okay to be scared, Keith. None of this is easy—and a lot of it is pretty invasive. I always got the sense that you're a private person, so I guess the puzzle makes a little more sense, now.  Thanks for telling me, though—for trusting me," Shiro says.

Shiro tugs his hand away and sits up. "Guess it's probably time for us to head back."

Keith reaches out and wraps his fingers around Shiro's arm. "No, wait. We have some time. And...maybe this could be our first date? So I can show you I'm here with you because I want to be."

Shiro sits back down beside Keith. "Okay," he says.  
  
They don't talk for a while other than to point out constellations. It's the most real and unguarded Keith's felt since this started.  
  
And Shiro doesn't mention leaving again, which is how Keith knows he wants stay here, too.

The drive back goes by too quickly and Shiro is warm at his back with his arms circled tight around Keith's waist.  
  
Keith doesn't want it to end.  
  
They manage to get in without incident—whatever chaos Matt fabricated in their absence clearly did its job and they owe him.

Keith expects someone to stop them on their walk back to Shiro's room. No one does.  
  
Shiro slides his window open and lingers. "Well. Goodnight," he says. He doesn't move.  
  
"Good n—" Keith starts. He doesn't get to finish before Shiro's pulling him in for a kiss.

Keith's imagined kissing Shiro many times: 30 minutes ago watching his rapt face as he pointed out constellations, 3 weeks ago sweaty and sated post embarrassing yoga session, 2 months ago the night they met, pressing palm to palm. 

The reality is better than any daydream.

Shiro's lips are hesitant and soft and a little chapped; his metal hand rests at the curve of Keith's waist while his other hand, warm and callused, cups the back of Keith's neck. 

Its only the barest hint of a kiss before Shiro pulls back, face flushed, eyes full of questions.

"Why did you stop?" Keith asks. 

"I just wanted to be sure," Shiro says.  
  
Keith rolls his eyes and threads his fingers through Shiro's hair. "Well. Allow me to make my feelings about this perfectly clear," Keith says. And then he pulls Shiro close to kiss him again.

Keith's loses track of time—he loses track of himself in the feel of Shiro's lips on his.  
  
When they part they're both flushed and panting.  
  
"Wow," Shiro says, dazed. His hair is  a mess, his shirt is askew and there are dark purple marks blooming along the line of his throat.

The spell breaks with a trill from Shiro's phone. It's the theme music from Star Trek: the Original Series. 

Shiro mutes it, apologetic. "Sorry, its my nightly reminder to go to sleep."  
  
God, Shiro is such a nerd and god, Keith likes him so so much.

The truth is inescapable; Keith has to go. Now.

But knowing doesn't make leaving any easier, and their good nights still take longer than they should.  
  
Keith finally leaves, but not before stealing another kiss and one last glimpse of Shiro smiling at him from his window.

As Keith walks back to his room, he can't keep himself from touching his kiss swollen lips, reminding himself tonight really happened. 

He's the happiest he's been in months, but it's not enough—he wants more.  
  
Fuck the games, Shiro's who he wants at his side. Whatever it takes.

Keith goes to bed warm and determined and a little reckless.  
  
He wakes up ready to see it through, too. But as the day goes on, and he and Shiro share soft, conspiratorial smiles, he has a gnawing sense that this is only a momentary victory—that the other shoe is about to drop.

__________________________________

Keith keeps his guard up, but there's nothing aside from the daily scheduled bullshit.  
  
Today: a group mystery date. The Powers That Be apparently decided he and Shiro can't be alone together, come hell or high water.  
  
And the show's doing an admirable impression of hell.

They're at the pier, paying homage to the arcane mating ritual of winning the object of one's affections a piece of stuffed polyester.  
  
A few suitors have stupidly challenged Keith to darts and he's methodically destroying their scores and egos. His mom will be so proud.

Too many of the guys left were "suggested" by Lotor; Keith's playing along hoping no one mentions his and Shiro's little adventure. So far, so good.  
  
Family visits start soon and if their egos can't handle this they'll shit themselves when they meet his mom. Keith can't wait.

Keith's not sure if it's because the others are cradling their bruised dignity like someone kicked them in the balls, or just dumb luck, but for the first time all day, Shiro manages to get Keith alone.  
  
He's smiling, sly, with both hands behind his back, "been looking for you."

"You shouldn't have," Keith says, dryly. But there's a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. Shiro was thinking about him; Shiro got him something just because he wanted to.  
  
It's sweet and unexpected. But if it's one of those soda hats, Keith's making Shiro wear one too.

"What were you just thinking?" Shiro asks.  
  
"You first."  
  
"Keith." Shiro pouts. It's adorable and disarming and Keith would cave right then and there if he hadn't learned to stand his ground from the best there is.  
   
But instead Keith just smiles. Two can play that game.

Keith slides closer, places a hand on Shiro's arm and looks up at him from under his eyelashes. "I'll tell you after you show me," he says.  
  
He hears Shiro's breath catch in his throat, sees his Adam's apple bob as he swallows, sees the flush blooming on his cheeks.  
  
Bullseye.

The muscles in Shiro's arm tense under Keith's palm.  
  
"You're not playing fair," Shiro says.  
  
Keith wants to laugh. What's unfair is that he met Shiro here, of all places, that Keith can't just kiss him whenever he wants and has to constantly look over his shoulder for a camera.

But there's something about Shiro that makes Keith reckless, makes him say fuck the rules and fuck the consequences. Something that makes him sneak out and throw rocks at a window in the middle of the night so they can steal away to stargaze.  
  
(Something Keith's scared to name.)

It's that something pushing him past his fear to lean even closer and rest his mouth inches from Shiro's ear.  
  
(He's spent so much time running. He doesn't want to run this time.)  
  
"You're right," Keith says, "I'm not playing fair. I'm playing to win."  
  
(He's playing for keeps.)

Keith knows that this little moment of flirting like they're not on display for anyone aside from each other has to come to an end.  
  
Still, against his better judgement, Keith shifts just a little and kisses the soft skin below Shiro's ear. "So, what did you want to tell me?"

Keith leans away reluctantly. 

Shiro's smiling. "I um. I got this for you," he says handing Keith something soft and purple.  
  
It's a hippo.  
  
Shiro cups the back of his neck with his prosthetic and continues, "well I won it. You don't have to keep it but—"  
  
"No! I love it."

Keith sighs and hugs the plush to his chest. "I have to go, but, keep an eye on your window tonight."  
  
There's so much Keith wishes he had the time and words to say but he's spent too long here already.  
  
He turns to leave then pauses to look back and mouth, "see you tonight."

__________________________________

He finds Matt on a bench near the end of the pier, eating a massive funnel cake and watching the waves.  
  
"Matt."  
  
"Hey Ke—what is that?" Matt asks. Keith's never seen someone do a cartoon double take in real life before.  
  
"Shiro got it for me."  
  
"Yeah, that explains it."

"Explains what?"  
  
"Why you look all, y'know, moony."  
  
"I do not." Keith's not close enough to the water to check his reflection. Fuck.  
  
"You do and it's kinda weird. If this is your reaction a stuffed hippo, I can't wait to see what your face looks like when he asks you to prom."

 

"There is no prom, Matt."  
  
Matt laughs maniacally. The effect is somewhat ruined by the halo of powdered sugar around his mouth.  
  
"Oh there absolutely is and we both know it. They're pushing a 'Bad Boy gets the Golden Boy,' narrative. You bet your ass there's gonna be a prom."

It's too close to what Lotor said for comfort. "Who told you that?"  
  
"What? Their narrative angle? Keith. Keithala. My little Keithy Cat—"  
  
"Don't call me that."  
  
"—don't insult my intelligence. As if I can't figure out what story they're pushing on their target audience."

"You hacked into the editing bay, didn't you."  
  
Matt scoffs, "Of course I did. Keith, I swear, if you saw the all the bullshit 'creative editing' they've pulled to make it look like you and Shiro aren't about to elope at any second...well these guys should work in politics."

"We do not," Keith says.

"Sounds fake, but okay."  
  
"Stop memeing at me, I need your help."  
  
"Let me guess, you wanna pull a repeat jailbreak?" Matt smirks.  
  
"...yes."  
  
"If you elope tonight and don't bring me, I'll never forgive you."  
  
"Matt."  
  
"Okay, okay. What do you need?"

__________________________________

By the time Keith gets back to the house, he's exhausted—and owes Matt three pounds of sour apple Warheads. Keith's not sure how Matt eats so many but the citric acid probably destroyed his taste buds years ago.  
  
Which would explain his penchant for mixing coffee and Red Bull.

His room here isn't particularly comforting, but it's still a place he can shut the door and be alone.  
  
Keith sprawls on the bed and stares at the so-neutral-it's-offensive beige ceiling. The pictures on the wall are a similar flavor of bland.  
  
But there are only 3 weeks left.

Only 3 weeks left, Keith thinks as he throws pebbles at Shiro's window later that night and Shiro smiles at him from behind the glass.  
  
Only 3 weeks left, Keith thinks as the remaining contestants mud wrestle for his hand.  
  
Only 3 weeks left, which means 1 thing: family visits.

__________________________________

It's a relief to pack up all his things and move out of the mansion. Well. Mostly. He hadn't brought much and production provided most of his wardrobe. Still, there's a sharp shard of loss at the realization that moving out means Shiro won't be just a few halls away, anymore.

When the sleek black cars had pulled up to the curb in front of the house, an eerie cookie cutter replica of the same way they'd all arrived, Shiro had pulled Keith in to a tight hug that lasted longer than it probably should have, and let him go with a whispered "see you soon."

When the production trucks pull up to his mom's house ,Keith can sense their disappointment.  
  
They don't say it, but they probably expected something a little less aggressively normal. But what they get is two stories, slate grey, and practically identical to one four lots over.

But Krolia's not one to advertise her past.  
  
Keith's out of the car before the crew even moves. The front door swings open as soon as his foot hits pavement and Krolia leans against the doorway with an expression only those close to her would recognize as a smile.  
  
Keith's home.

"My prodigal son returns," Krolia says.  
  
"Don't sound so shocked."  
  
"I'm not. I'm more surprised everyone else made it out of there in one piece," she says, peering over his shoulder to where the crew are coming up the path. Her gaze turns back towards Keith, "get in here, now."

The crew are halfway up the path, equipment bags hanging off their shoulders. It was bad enough having them in his face all the time at the mansion. Still—it's in his contract.  
  
"What are you doing," Keith hisses.  
  
"Keith, get in the house"  
  
"Mom—"  
  
"Just shut up and trust me."

Keith reflexively opens his mouth to argue, but common sense makes a bid for control and he shuts it without comment. He steps into the house as just as Krolia steps out, pulling herself up to her full height and blocking the doorway.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?"

He can imagine the naked fear on their faces.  

A crew member stutters out a response that Keith isn't sure is English. Or language.  
  
"You're not allowed in here, you don't have the necessary security clearance."  
  
"But—"  
  
Krolia just turns around and shuts the door behind her.

“Well. Now that that's taken care of—dinner? I was thinking of that Indian place around the corner," she says, calm and serene, like there isn't an entire camera crew on her porch. 

  
"There's no way that's true."  
  
"It's not, but it won't matter by the time they figure that out."

And, much like her theory that a local girl scout trope was actually a money laundering scheme for a corrupt state senator, his mom turns out to be 100 percent right.  
  
Keith is able to sleep for the time in weeks without wondering what hoops he'll have to jump through tomorrow.

__________________________________

The next day dawns warm and sunny and unusually quiet. Keith hadn't realized he'd gotten so used to the constant hum of ambient noise at the mansion.  
  
Here, his mom is the only one waiting for him when he comes downstairs, turned in profile as she fries bacon on the stove.

After they sit down to eat, Keith makes the mistake of checking his phone.  
  
His notifications are a mess as is his email. He has 3 days to himself before the visits start; he wants to make that time count. If that means conveniently ignoring Lotor, well that's just a bonus.

His mom takes one look at his phone, raises an eyebrow and holds out her hand. "You're all mine until Friday."  
  
Keith hesitates for a second—but he doesn't even have Shiro's number. And then his phone emits a set of violent chimes and makes the choice for him. He hands it over.

The next couple of days are healing in a way Keith didn't know he needed. They watch bad action movies, his mom tears apart the fight sequences, Keith debates the physics of the batmobile, and neither of them so much look at a phone unless it's to order take out. It's bliss.

On the last day before Keith hands over the keys to his freedom, they go for a hike at sunrise.  
  
Keith's one of the only people who can keep pace with Krolia and she takes advantage: it's a brutal five mile climb up a nearby trail in the freezing hours just before dawn.

When they reach the summit, air is warmed enough that it feels crisp instead of freezing and the sun's just beginning to crest the horizon. Krolia gives him all of five seconds before she poses the question that's been on her mind all week: "so, who's the front runner?"

Unfortunately, she asks just as Keith takes a sip from his canteen and suddenly he finds himself unsure if he's choking on water or on explanations.  
  
Maybe both. Probably both.  
  
God. He loves his mom but this is basically her version of talking about boys at a sleepover.

"Mom," Keith says.  
  
"Keith." And it's unfair that she's completely unruffled. He should have known better than to hope otherwise. "If you don't want to talk about it that's fine, I'll just treat all of them equally." She gives him a look. "All of them."  
  
"That's not better."

She just shrugs, but somehow she manages to make it look smug. "Your call."

Keith takes a moment and turns back towards the horizon, painted a brilliant red by the rising sun.  
  
It's not that he doesn't want to tell her, it's more that he's not sure where to start.

"Sometimes I'm worried that this is all moving too fast," Keith says, kicking at a rock in front of him. It skitters down the side of the hill. "No matter how, or what I feel, it's only been a couple of months."  
  
"I only knew your dad for a couple of months before I proposed."

"I know," Keith says.  
  
"You don't sound so sure."  
  
Although Keith knows this is a conversation they should have face to face, he can't make himself turn around. Besides, it's not an issue unless he makes it one.  
  
He's not making it one. He won't.  
  
"Shiro. His name is Shiro."

"Shiro, huh?" she says, amused. "Tell me about him?"  
  
Keith's only been able to talk about Shiro with Matt (already sick of it), or Lotor (just, no) and he trusts Krolia's opinion more than anyone's.  
  
So he turns, sits next to her, and talks till the sun is well over the horizon.

"I look forward to meeting him," Krolia says as they make their way down from the summit.  
  
Keith smiles, "me too."  
  
And as much as there's some as yet unnamed fear churning in his gut, Keith knows his mom will lo—like Shiro as much as he does.  
  
And he'll be here tomorrow.

__________________________________

He doesn't know if it's anxiety or anticipation, but either way Keith can't sleep.  
  
He's too aware that he's sleeping in his childhood bedroom. That Shiro is going to see his childhood bedroom.  
  
He's just about to drift off when the sun rises, washing his ceiling pale gold.

It's useless to try and sleep when his body's internal clock is all too aware that Shiro's due to arrive at any second.  
  
He heads downstairs to make breakfast and gets halfway through his bowl of cereal before a sleek black car is pulling up alongside the curb.

Krolia is faster. She's already opening the door by the time Keith gathers his wits.  
  
But it doesn't matter because he promptly loses them again the second he sees Shiro.  
  
He's tall and beautiful and smiling and by some black magic his shoulders are broader than Keith remembers.

Krolia stands behind Shiro, visible just over his shoulder, face smug and smiling. She gives Keith a quick, sharp nod and he's glad she approves—until she keeps going and mouths "I like him."  
  
No matter how cool, moms still take it as their god given right to embarrass their kid.

"Hey," Shiro says, soft and low. God. Just his voice is enough to set Keith aflame.

"Hey yourself," Keith replies. But what he really means is "I miss you."  
  
And then Shiro's saying the words himself, a gentle "missed you" and holding his arms open creating a Keith-sized space.

And it is. It's clear from the second that Keith tucks himself against Shiro's chest that—within the circle of Shiro's arms—Keith is a perfect fit.

"Good to be back," Keith murmurs, more to himself than anything.  
  
But Shiro responds in kind. "It's good to have you back."

Keith meets his mom's eyes over Shiro's shoulder and sees her shocked  face.  
  
He gets why: Keith doesn't usually let people get so close, so quick. Hearing about it is one thing, seeing is another.  
  
But Shiro's different.  
  
"Did you get that," a dreadfully familiar voice hisses.

Keith closes his eyes and opens them again. He'd heard once that that's a way to wake up from a nightmare. No such luck, it's 100% the real Lotor in the foyer.  
  
Apparently Shiro crossing the threshold gave the metaphorical vampires all the invitation they needed to come in, too.

Krolia shoots Lotor a look that could temper glass.  
  
Lotor flinches. But he recovers fast, face smooth and unreadable as he offers her a handshake. "You have a lovely home. It's nice to finally see the inside."  
  
"I know," Krolia says, grip tight enough to make Lotor wince.

After that, Lotor begins briskly detailing the schedule for their final weeks of shooting.  
  
Keith listens with a growing sense of dread. It's brutal. Non-stop sunrise to sunrise shooting and not a moment free to rest. Or to be alone with Shiro.  
  
At least not without cameras.

There are only three bright spots:  
  
One: Keith can literally count the days until this mess is finally over.  
  
Two: a good majority of that time will be with Shiro and his mom  
  
Three: he'll get to see Hunk, Pidge, and Lance.  
  
(Though honestly, three is more of a mixed bag.)

__________________________________

Their dinner with Keith's friends is up first.  
  
They meet Hunk, Lance, and Pidge at a restaurant in the Harbor District. It's way fancier than anything they would pick if left to their own devices.  
  
There are no prices on the menu, but then again, they're not the ones paying.

Honestly, Keith would rather take Shiro to Sal's—his favorite diner. Built in '63, Sal's is full on nostalgia, complete with peeling red vinyl booths. The one in the back left corner practically has a permanent impression of Keith's ass at this point, he goes there that often.

Sal's is practically a town landmark. But more importantly—it actually matters to Keith. Unlike this place.

On top of that, wardrobe makes him wear a sports coat with a fucking pocket square and then pairs it with leather pants. It's an outfit Lance will never let him live down.

They make Shiro and Keith get ready separately but they let them drive over together. Or at least be driven.  
  
"I'm sick of sitting in the back seat all the time," Keith says. "Next time they make us do this I'm calling shotgun."  
  
Shiro laughs, eyes bright. "I'd pay to see that."

Keith smiles, sly. "Really? You're on, hand it over."  
  
"You'd take a bet over sitting with me? Wow, Keith, I'm hurt. I thought we had something special."  
  
 "Mmm, but what if I don't want money, though?"  
  
Shiro arches a brow. "How am I supposed to pay you then?"  
  
"Kisses."

"I suppose that's an acceptable trade," Shiro says, flushed.  
  
But by the time they get to the restaurant, Keith's the one who's red faced.  
  
A quick glance in the car's tinted windows shows his hair is—disheveled. And not artfully. But it makes him feel a bit more like himself.

Lance, Hunk, and Pidge are already there by the time they arrive. The host leads them into a private room at the back of the restaurant.  
  
Keith loves his friends, most of the time. Keith can also admit that, right now, they remind him of sharks in the water circling for blood.

Hunk waves, beaming. Lance's face is gleeful for any good outcome. Pidge has a speculative look on her face—which never ends well for anyone.  
  
At least the left Keith and Shiro two seats next to one another.  
  
Between his mom and his friends, this weekend is a bit of a gauntlet.

Keith has full faith in Shiro's ability to win over his friends. 

He just doesn't trust then not make Keith suffer in the process. Pidge looks like she's barely holding back, and as soon as they get to the table she's wearing a sly smile that can only mean one thing: trouble.

"How was the ride over?"  
  
Keith stiffens, and knows immediately that Pidge won't let that go without comment.  
  
"It was fine."  
  
"Just fine?"  
  
"Nice."  
  
"You sure the car wasn't too hot?"  
  
Keith feels like he's walking right into a trap. "No, why?"  
  
"You just look a little flushed."

"No idea what you're talking about," Keith says. He shoots Pidge his best glare, the one that never failed to get results during group projects.  
  
She rolls her eyes and then fixes her gaze on Shiro. "You gonna bullshit me, too?"  
  
"Pidge—"  
  
"The question is for Shiro, not you."

"We had a good time," Shiro shrugs. The tops of his ears are bright pink but he's clearly doing his best to play it off even as a fresh bruise blooms on the side of his throat.    
  
"Sure looks like it," Pidge says as they all take their seats.  
  
Keith's in for a long night.

He's only half right. Despite his friend's best—and mostly successful—attempts to embarrass him, Keith has a pretty great time.  
  
The food is better than he expected, he can almost ignore the omnipresent cameras, and Shiro's hand rests warm on his knee all through dinner.

It's almost effortless: Shiro speaks easily with Hunk about aviation, more than holds his own in a conversation about orbital dynamics with Pidge. And at one point, Lance even corners Keith in the bathroom to tell him—with stars in his eyes—that Shiro is his new hero.

Dinner goes on and it just gets easier. 30 minutes in and Keith's flushed more from pleasure than embarrassment.  
  
If the space between Shiro's arms was sized just for Keith, then it's clear there was a matching space in Keith's life that Shiro's perfectly shaped to fit.

"I like him," Pidge whispers in his ear as they hug goodbye.  
  
"Me too."  
  
As soon as she pulls away she rolls her eyes. "Really, I couldn't tell."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"You could try and make me but we both know that you'd lose."  
  
"Katie."  
  
"Keith."  
  
"You're the worst."  
  
"Love you too."

He's inordinately pleased that his friends say goodbye to him and Shiro like it's the last time they'll see them before going off to war.  
  
Considering that just this morning Lotor had uttered the dreaded phrase "accelerated production schedule," it might well be.  
  
Keith's other suitors are already in town. Unfortunately.

__________________________________

By some miracle, they make it back to the house with no major incidents.  
  
Krolia left the light in the foyer but the house is otherwise dark.  
  
Shiro threads his fingers through Keith's and they make their way the stairs. Shiro follows him all the way to his room, eyes dark. 

"Well, I guess this is good night," Keith says.  
  
Shiro doesn't answer. Instead, he cups a hand beneath Keith's jaw and leans in for a kiss.  
  
The movement of Shiro's lips against his is sweet but also a bit of a tease—a promise for more but something he can't have just yet. 

"Good night," Shiro says, pulling away and slipping down the hall.  
  
Keith is left alone, breathless and wanting, fingers pressed to his lips.  
  
It's going to be a long night.

__________________________________

Except, just as he's about to slip into bed for the night, he hears something hit his window.

Keith almost thinks he imagined it—until it happens again. And then again.  
  
He flicks on the lamps next to his bed and goes to the window.  
  
And there, standing in one of his mom's beds of succulents, is Shiro, hair catching the moonlight, smug smile stretched across his face.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair," Shiro says.  
  
"Shiro what are you doing?" Keith says. He scans the yard but he doesn't see anyone else.  
  
"Making a gesture," Shiro looks shy, somehow, despite the bravado required to even do this in the first place. "Can I come up?"

It’s adorable; that Shiro’s doing this, that he thinks there’s even a possibility that Keith would say no.  
  
“Yeah, what’s your plan?”  
  
Shiro shrugs, face burning a dull red visible in the moonlight—even from this distance. “The stairs, I guess. This was just for effect.”

Keith can relate—but there's also a perfectly good tree right next to his window. "Or, you could climb up."  
  
It's not a trellis, but it's the same idea and Shiro's fun to tease.  
  
Shiro squints. “You don't think I can do it."  
  
"Oh, I think you can, I just don't think you will."

Shiro's already at the base of the tree by the time Keith finishes his sentence, bridging the distance in three strides.  
  
In no time at all he's halfway up and all Keith can think is 'I'd like to climb him like a tree', and then Shiro's there, swinging one leg over windowsill.

Shiro’s all broad shoulders and beautiful smile as he closes the gap between them.

Keith shivers as Shiro's hands slips under his shirt, whines as Shiro trails kisses down the side of his neck.  
  
"Shiro, please.” But Shiro just softly drags his teeth over Keith’s skin.

"Please what?" Shiro murmurs, for breath fanning over Keith's collarbone.  
  
Keith whines. He's already half hard in his slacks and he pushes his hips forwards, hands flying to Shiro's belt. Language may have left him but he can still show Shiro how much he wants this.

"Keith," Shiro says, voice breaking, his eyes all pupil. "Are you sure?"

Keith's already gotten Shiro's belt undone and hand pressed against the front of Shiro's boxer briefs, palming him through the fabric.  
  
"Do I seem unsure to you?"  
  
"That's not an answer."  
  
"Yes, I'm sure."

It's Keith's turn to pause. He knows what he wants—but some small part of him needs to know Shiro wants this too; that he won't regret it.  
  
"Are you?" Keith can't meet Shiro's eyes. "Sure?"  
  
"More than anything," Shiro says, pushing Keith onto the bed and dropping to his knees.

Keith drank at dinner, but not enough to explain the drunken, dazed feeling washing over him.  
  
That's all Shiro.  
  
He helps Keith take of his sweat pants and then it's a blur of pleasure.  
  
Shiro's mouth is hot and wet and there's no way that Keith will last if this keeps up.

"Shiro, stop, please."  
  
Shiro sits back on his heels but keeps a hand on Keith's thigh tracing absent minded patterns over his skin.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing, just—" Keith leans away to open his nightstand drawer, and tosses Shiro the bottle when he finds what he's looking for.

"Only if you want," Keith's quick to add.  
  
Shiro's eyes are all pupil. He leans in,l and trails a hand up Keith's thigh moving it higher and then higher still.  
  
"I want," Shiro says.  
  
Good. Keith leans in for a kiss and falls back against the bed. He hears the cap snap open.

Keith lets out an involuntary hiss and flinches at the first hesitant touch of Shiro's fingers.  
  
"Sorry," Shiro says, pulling his hand back.  
  
Keith quickly circles his own hand around Shiro's wrist and tugs him closer. "Keep going."  
  
"Keith—"  
  
"I'm fine. It's just a little cold."

"Okay," Shiro's says.  
  
Keith shifts closer. "I'm not going to break."  
  
Just like before, it seems like a all Shiro needs to make his move was a challenge. He nips at Keith's inner thigh, working on a new line of bruises as he presses in the first finger and then the second.

Keith's not sure what he expected Shiro would be like in bed. If he's honest, he shied away from thinking about it. Maybe some part of him worried they'd never get to this point.  
  
Maybe it was his way of protecting himself, just in case everything went to shit before now.

But it's clear that anything he'd have dreamed up would pale in comparison. But Shiro's never anything other than amazing; as he licks around his fingers while working Keith open, as he finally presses inside, as he hits that spot that makes Keith's body spark like a live wire.

All too quickly Keith's hurtling toward the edge. From Shiro's stop-start thrusts and the way he's panting against Keith's neck, he's close too.  
  
Then Shiro's wrapping a hand around him, using just the right amount of pressure and Keith's gone. Shiro follows soon after.

Shiro pulls him close after and pushes Keith's mess of hair out of his eyes before dropping a kiss on his forehead, and stroking his fingers over the underside of Keith's jaw.

Keith leans in for a real kiss, quick and dirty, and then rolls over to fit himself into Shiro's side.

Then he catches sight of his ceiling, covered in constellations of glow in the dark plastic stars and laughs.  
  
Shiro tries to sit up. "Something wrong?"  
  
He puts a hand to Shiro's chest to still him. "No, I just can't believe the first time we fucked was in my childhood bedroom."

Shiro's hand—which was tracing patterns over Keith's skin—freezes on the small of his back. "Oh."  
  
The amount of surprise in his voice sends Keith into a new round of laughter. 

"Stop laughing, I didn't realize," Shiro says, but he's laughing too. 

"Shiro, you planned this."

"I didn't think about that part, though!"  
  
"Or the part where my mom's just down the hall?"  
  
"Oh no," Shiro says. When Keith turns towards him, Shiro's face has gone pale. "How am I supposed to look her in the eye tomorrow."  
  
"With your eyes, probably."  
  
"Keith this isn't funny."

"It's a little funny."  
  
"You won't say that if she kills me."  
  
"She's not gonna kill you." Keith pauses like he has to think about it. "If you were selfish in bed, maybe."  
  
"No, I was wrong, you're the one who's gonna kill me."  
  
Keith leans up for a kiss. "Only a little death."

Shiro groans. "Keith."  
  
"You seriously didn't realize?"  
  
Shiro shakes his head, "I really, really didn't."  
  
"Seemed like you had it all planned out to me."  
  
Shiro looks at Keith, shrugs, then looks away. "Well after," Shiro raises his prosthetic, "this, I got good at pretending."

Keith doesn't know what to say. Shiro's never talked about the accident that cost him his arm, and Keith never wanted to make it a Thing.  
  
If Shiro never brought it up then Keith wouldn't either. Instead of speaking, Keith reaches over to lace his fingers with Shiro's metal ones.

Maybe it's the post sex endorphins, or maybe it's something else, but Keith can't stop himself from bringing their linked hands to his mouth to press a kiss to Shiro's knuckles and then to his mouth.  
  
From there, it doesn't take much for things to escalate into round two.

They fall asleep soon after. Keith wakes up sprawled over Shiro's chest with Shiro's arms circled around his waist. He's can feel where Shiro's half hard against his thigh, wedged between Shiro's own. It's flattering to think that even asleep,  he can affect Shiro like this.

Before he can think of fun ways for Shiro to wake up his phone dings beside him.  
  
'Breakfast is ready, come down in the next 10 minutes if you want to let Shiro pretend you slept in separate rooms.'  
  
Keith flushes and starts shaking Shiro awake. They make it down just in time.

His mom shoots them an amused smile and Keith sees the panic flash across Shiro's face but Krolia doesn't say anything. Small mercies. For now.  
  
The rest of the day passes too fast, like time itself is speeding up to keep pace with Lotor's accelerated production schedule.

By the time Shiro's due to leave, Keith's sure that his mom and his friends are just as smitten with Shiro as he is. His mom even gives Shiro a hug, which is as emphatic a seal of approval as she's ever given.  
  
He'll see him in a few days, but it hurts to watch Shiro drive away.

__________________________________

The other visits don't even go an eighth as well, though Lotor doesn't seem as upset about that as Keith expected. Maybe it's all of the cutting remarks Krolia's made—those are probably exactly what Lotor dreams about. Even if Krolia's eviscerating all of Shiro's competition.

It doesn't seem like Lance, Hunk, and Pidge don't seem thrilled by Keith's other options either. And like Krolia, they're not shy about making their feelings clear.  
  
And then it's finally over and all that's left is for Keith to make his decision.  
  
Like he hadn't made it already.

Keith doesn't get to see Shiro until the final day of filming. Lotor and Acxa & co are doing their best to keep him busy with interview after interview. He's sure they've forced Shiro to do the same.  
  
After who knows how many takes, Keith finally makes a bid for freedom.

It’s almost too easy. The house they're shooting in isn't the same one they stayed at during filming the show but it's just as huge. So it's no wonder that Shiro's doesn't notice Keith approach, doesn't stop his—pretty heated—conversation.

One Keith was never supposed to hear.

"This is not what I signed up for." Shiro's tone is stark and cold, like Keith's never heard it before. It's enough to set his teeth on edge.  
  
"I'm not going to do that. It's not fair to me to have to pretend like that, and it's not fair to Keith either. He deserves the truth."

Panic hits Keith like a bullet to the chest, quickly followed by a sinking feeling that makes Keith feel as though he's looking at the world from the bottom of a well.  
  
He leans against the wall and sinks down, resting his head between his knees. He can't process any of this.

"I'm good at pretending." That's what Shiro had said. He’s been flushed and relaxed and maybe more honest and open than any other time they’d talked. Keith keeps replaying the snippets of that overheard conversation in his head. It's a constant echo he can't escape or forget.

He wants to believe Shiro’s feelings are real, there are small things, things that have Keith’s head swimming with questions.  
  
How well can you really get to know someone in 3 months? How many reality tv show relationships actually last? How many has Keith seen crash and burn?

All the answers he comes up—there’s no comfort in any of them.  
  
And Keith knows all too well that others always find him more complicated than compelling.  
  
So he can’t keep from asking himself: just how long has Shiro been playing pretend? How long has he been playing Keith?

Keith's unsure how long he stays there. But his phone screen is crowded with texts.  
  
He should have expected this—but he didn't. Otherwise he wouldn't have sent Matt home before the family visits. Wouldn't have jettisoned his escape pod because he was so sure Shiro felt the same.

He drifts during hair and make up. It's meant to be the day that he makes his choice—except that he'd chosen Shiro a long time ago only to find out that Shiro had other ideas with less than two strokes till the clock hit midnight.  
  
And Keith's the one who's turned into a pumpkin.

Still, Keith makes it through on autopilot. He never planned to say yes to the other guy so it doesn't seem fair to change his mind now.  
  
Besides, both he and Sendak know the only reason he's still here is because of Lotor.  
  
Still he accepts his answer with a too content smile.

It's too pleasant, too peaceful. It doesn't fit with Keith's fumbling rejection which makes Keith newly grateful for the magic of reality tv editing. They're going to earn their paychecks shaping this into some kind of coherent speech. Keith can't find it in himself to care.

And then: Shiro. Keith waits on his mark, and watches as Shiro walks towards him. He has to fight from letting his feelings show on his face.  
  
Keith can be good at pretending, too.  
  
Shiro's soft smile is almost makes him break, but he's not falling for the same trick twice.

There's something in Keith that can't help turning this into a eulogy for what he thought they could be. Throughout the whole speech, Shiro doesn't seem to realize where it's headed until the end.  
  
"Thank you Shiro, for all the amazing memories. I'm sorry I couldn't pick you."

__________________________________

Keith gets out of there as fast as possible. He refuses to cry on camera. Normally he refuses to cry at all.  
  
But he's barely back in his dressing room before he expects the tears to start. They don't.  
  
As Keith packs up his things, he doesn't feel anything other than numb.

Keith books it for the car. Technically it's allowed for him to pick no one, but he doesn't want to have to stick around and have Lotor make him do a post mortem on something that's already dead.

He thinks he hears someone calling after him but he's not stopping. Not for anyone.

He doesn't stop until he's home. His mom takes one look at him and wraps Keith in her arms.  
  
She takes one look at him and says, "We're going to your Uncle's."  
  
It doesn't take long for either of them to pack a bag and then they're off to Kolivan's where no one will find them.

__________________________________

Keith spends 2 weeks there. The fresh air and total lack isolation from the outside world don't heal everything, but they help.  
  
After 2 weeks, Hunk, Lance, and Pidge show up, saying they got time off of work to go camping.  
  
Keith's touched—he knows how much Pidge hates camping.

They all stay for a while longer. No one mentions the show. No one mentions when he's going back.  
  
No one mentions Shiro.  
  
Keith isn't sure how they managed such an extended vacation but he's not going to question it. Right now, questions lead to answers he doesn't want to confront.

__________________________________

Time passes. Keith finally returns to civilization and turns on his phone. There are a bunch of missed calls and voicemails from a number he doesn't recognize. He listens to two seconds of a painfully familiar voice before hurling his phone at a wall and changing his number.

Before he knows it the show's started airing. Everyone at Marmora Industries knows better than to mention it in front of Keith. So no one does, despite the fact that there are posters and commercials all over town.

Keith keeps a low profile, attention is the last thing he needs.

Suddenly, Keith's engaged in another dreadful countdown, waiting until the final episode airs, waiting until the world sees exactly what some part of him had always feared.  
  
The fear that made drunk Keith fill out the application in the 1st place.  
  
That he'd always end up alone.

The night the finale airs, Keith takes a personal day and holes up in his apartment with a bottle of tequila Lance had given him for his last birthday.  
  
He turns off his phone. Pidge, Lance, and Hunk will all be home later. Anyone else who needs to know where he is already does.

He doesn't plan on watching it—if he's honest, he doesn't plan on watching anything other than the bottom of his tequila bottle. But outright morbid turns into morbid curiosity, and soon enough he's flipping open his laptop to search for a stream. An illegal one, out of spite.

Or he tries to watch. He lasts all of 2 minutes before he has to close the stream. Seeing Shiro's face next to his own—his own stupidity adoring face—is too much to bear.  
  
He's liberal with his shots after that and then the others get home and the rest of the night is a blur.

__________________________________

Alcohol may be enough to make Keith forget a bad night, but it's not enough to make him forget a bad past several months.  
  
He wakes up with a pounding headache. Lance, Hunk, and Pidge are all still asleep and draped over various pieces of furniture. The place is a mess.

There's some sort of...green goo on the counter that Keith doesn't think actually qualifies as food.  
  
When he makes the mistake of turning on his phone, the screen immediately floods with notifications. He doesn't catch all the names but not that many people have his new number.

Still, after sending a text to his mom to let her know he's okay, he turns it off again. All he wants to do is take some aspirin and head back to bed. Preferably for several years.  
  
He only manages the first one, he's halfway under the covers when someone pounds on the door.

"Keith, open this door right now or I'll figure out a way to make your fire alarm go off every time you try to shower."  
  
"What the hell is Matt doing here?" Pidge says, one eye open.  
  
"Don't test me, Keithy-cat, we both know I'll do it."  
  
"No clue."  
  
"I can hear you talking!"

"Dude please open the door," Hunk says. "I like my showers without false fire alarm felonies."  
  
"I need my shower time, Keith, it's my me time," Lance whines.  
  
"Fuck off, you can still masturbate in your room, Lance." Keith makes his way to the door, anyways because he's a giver.

Matt slams into him. "What the fuck were you thinking?"  
  
Keith folds his arms over his chest. "I'm the one who should be asking you that."  
  
"Well I'm not the idiot who picked Sendak over Shiro!"  
  
A collective flinch ripples through the apartment at Shiro's name. "I what now?"

"I saw it on the finale! I thought I'd at least get answers as to why you've been Depressed McHermit for the past couple months, but seriously—what the fuck? This is bullshit, Keith. Shiro's a really cool guy. You should have seen how upset he was when you changed your number."

Clearly Matt prepared a speech because he continues. "I thought maybe you had a YA heroine moment and gone all 'I choose myself'. I would've respected that. But no, you didn't and now they're trying to take advantage of Shiro's broken heart and make him the next Bachelor."

Keith's world screeches to a halt. "Shiro's what?"  
  
"You broke his heart!"  
  
"No back up to the other part." Pidge says, stopping Matt in his tracks. He's somehow managed to pace around most of their apartment despite the flotsam and jetsam littering the floor. "Say that again."

"They want Shiro to be the next Bachelor."  
  
Of course. Why wouldn't they? Shiro is beautiful and brilliant and how many times had Keith thought Shiro would have been a better choice?  
  
With a sickening sense of deja vu, Keith turns to Matt. "I need your help."  
  
"Fucking finally."

__________________________________

Shiro doesn't live that far away. Keith doesn't know why it surprises him so much.  
  
Maybe it's because ever since that fateful final day of shooting the distance between the two of them has felt so massive it might as well be the distance between Earth and Pluto's moons.

Still, standing in Shiro's yard, rocks in hand, Keith feels like he might as well be on an alien planet. He throws a rock; the window opens.  
  
"Keith," Shiro says. Shock and hurt flicker across his face before it smooths into something blank and practiced. "Why are you here?"

"Can we talk?" Keith says.  
  
Shiro looks unmoved. "I tried to talk to you months ago and you didn't answer. And then you changed your number. Guess I finally got the hint, as though 'no' weren't enough."  
  
Keith winces. "Yeah I guess I deserve that." Because it's true, he does.

Shiro sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He looks more tired than Keith's ever seen him and Keith can't help wondering how much of that is his fault. Then he wonders if it's self centered to think that Shiro was upset over him at all.  
  
"Okay if you wanna talk, we'll talk."

He frowns and looks at Keith then back at his room. "Meet me on the porch. I can't talk like this."  
  
He gestures to the window situation. Keith can understand. After all, so much of their history is throwing rocks at windows. Maybe this brings up too many memories for Shiro, too.

It's an older, wrap around style porch. The chipped white paint and broad wrought iron swing familiar and comforting in a way Keith isn't sure he deserves.  
  
Shiro's already sitting on the swing, broad and beautiful but somehow made smaller by the cloud of doubt over his head.

Hey," Keith says. He approaches Shiro like he's a wild animal—like he's always imagined some people have tried to approach him.

"Hey." It's more of a statement than an invitation, but at this point Keith will take what he can get. "So, why are you really here, Keith?"

“I told you, to talk.”  
  
Shiro doesn’t look at him. “No I mean what, changed? Why now? Why not a month ago? Why are you suddenly willing to listen?"  
  
Keith sits on the swing leaving as much distance between them as he can. He owes Shiro that much. “Because I saw the finale."

Shiro just looks confused. “Okay, but I don't know why that's change things. You know, considering you were there. You're the one that chose.”  
  
Keith stares out at the sunset. “You’re half right. I didn’t choose you, but I didn't choose him, either. I chose—but I chose no one.”

“What are you talking about, I saw you—“  
  
“—No, listen to me. Matt said they asked—“  
  
“—me to be the next Bachelor.”  
  
“And was that the first time they asked?”  
  
Shiro’s eyes are hard and unforgiving. “No. It wasn’t. They’d been asking for a while. I just kept saying no."

“When was the last time you said no?”  
  
But Keith already know—because he was too stuck in his own head to hear the other shoe hit the ground when it dropped.  
  
Of course Lotor wouldn’t want to let go of Shiro so easily.  
  
Not when Keith was an idiot who would do his job for him.

“The last—“  
  
“—day we were filming.”  
  
“Yeah.” Shiro’s brows draw together. “How did you know?”  
  
“Because I heard you two talking on the phone.”  
  
Keith had wondered, briefly, and only for a moment, why it had been so easy to slip away.  
  
It was because Lotor wanted him to.

They should have talked about it then, but Keith was too ready to fall into insecurities and tear open the stitches on old wounds.  
  
Maybe Lotor did them a favor. If they couldn’t talk to each other, were they ready to be together then? But they're talking. They could try now.

And they do. They talk and talk and until the sun sets, and keep talking until it rises, heading into Shiro’s kitchen when the air gets too chilly to brave the porch any longer.  
  
Shiro makes them both hot chocolate. It's a little scorched but still sweet—and they make a plan.

__________________________________

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Pidge says. They’re in Keith’s apartment, squished together thigh against thigh on Keith’s beloved ratty old couch.  
  
Keith laces his fingers with Shiro’s and Shiro gives his hand a little squeeze. “Yeah. I’m sure. Shiro?”  
  
“I’m sure, too.”

“Okay, well, no going back now. We’re live in three, two, one.” Pidge says. The blinking light of the rental camera turns on. 

Keith doesn’t know what to say other than the truth.  
  
“Uh. So I’m Keith, and this is Shiro. And you might recognize us. You might have some questions."

"But here’s the most important part. That finale you saw, that wasn't real. That wasn’t the truth." Keith says, staring down the camera. "The truth is that I chose Shiro—that I always wanted to choose him. But the show chose something else, and they chose it without telling me."

"Without telling either of us."Shiro adds.  
  
“So yes, I did chose Shiro," Keith says. "And I'll keep choosing Shiro every day for the rest of our lives if he'll let me. I'll choose him as many times as it takes."  
  
Shiro leans in and smiles. “The truth is, we choose each other."

**Author's Note:**

> [ tumblr](http://spookyfoot.tumblr.com) // [ twitter](http://twitter.com/spooky_foot).


End file.
